


Tabula Rasa

by Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard



Series: Flower Rain Outtakes [3]
Category: Political RPF - Russian 21st c.
Genre: Flower Rain's Bad End, Hanahaki AU, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23234371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard/pseuds/Goddess_Under_The_Cupboard
Summary: That which is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil-Friedrich Nietzsche
Relationships: Dmitry Medvedev/Vladimir Putin
Series: Flower Rain Outtakes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632760
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	Tabula Rasa

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Welcome to the alternate ending of Flower Rain - Red Spider Lilies and Meet Me on the Equinox
> 
> OST for this one-shot:
> 
> 1\. I Was Waiting For This Moment - Yuki Kajiura [Mahou Shoujo Madoka Magica - Rebellion OST]  
> YT: https://youtu.be/4oYslv-lWYY
> 
> 2\. M01+M02 - Yuki Kajiura [Kara No Kyoukai - Fourth Chapter OST]  
> YT: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fnDPvBC4oeA
> 
> Also, I used this clip's translation for Dima's resignation speech:  
> YT: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hLYEjVbJJU
> 
> The news article about that woman proposing to Putin:  
> https://sputniknews.com/society/202003071078502386-call-me-maybe-russian-woman-explains-why-she-asked-president-putin-to-marry-her/
> 
> Link about Putin's Residences:  
> https://www.rbth.com/lifestyle/330666-official-residences-russia-president-vladimir-putin

_Ridiculous_

"I believe that it would be right to follow Article 117 of our constitution that the current government of the Russian Federation resigns. Dear colleagues, I thank you for lending your expertise and your hard work for this government." 

Dmitry sighed in relief as he finished his spiel and let Vladimir take the floor. He folded his hands together, and his thumb is gently grazing his left hand as he soothes himself. He notes the lack of surprise and shock from his colleagues; he would have wanly smiled that they didn't even try to act, but he was upholding his part as the disappointed former prime minister. Another stage, lines are memorised, actors poised to fulfil their roles and the press laps up this pretentious act. 

_At least this is his last day in this political theatre._

He fixes his gaze on the other side of the room and let his mind wander; after today, the caged bird is free. It hopes that its wings have not yet succumbed to atrophy as it readies itself to take one final flight to freedom. He snapped out of his trance when he heard that cold voice saying his name. 

"You've been prime minister for almost eight years, Dima?" Vladimir inquired

"Yes," he muttered, and his lips are twitching as he inhibits himself from smiling. He went back to his musings, and the ticks of the grandfather clock became louder or were it his imagination? The ticks are urging him to leave this farce before its too late. 

_There is a nagging feeling in his heart._

"Thank you for your hard work," the president concluded his speech and rose from his seat. He followed suit and Vladimir extended his hand for him to shake; he took it, gave the quickest handshake of his life and left the conference room. 

_His master is pointing a gun towards him as he desperately flew._

He tried to still the frantically beating heart on his chest, why is he feeling this way? That there's a danger looming over the horizon? He should be elated; his plans are going smoothly. By tonight he'll be on a journey to the place where it all began, to reminisce before his demise. Consumed by his thoughts, he never noticed the other set of footsteps following him to his soon-to-be former office. He turned around to close the double doors, but he's aghast when he met icy blue eyes. He took a step back as Vladimir Vladimirovich entered the room, closing the doors behind him and the ominous click of the lock ringing throughout the whole room. 

He composed himself as he puts on a small, polite smile on his face. "What can I do for you, Vladimir Vladimirovich?"

The president paced towards him, and he unconsciously took a step back. While he appreciates this look on Vladimir, the kind smile on the president's face feels off, hostile. 

"Can I not bid you good-bye, Dima?" Vladimir asked as he continued to approach him, a shiver of fear went down his spine at the use of his nickname. Dmitry walked backwards until his back hits the wall. There's nothing to protect him from the president's advances. He let out a shaky breath as the man stops a metre away from him. 

"I suppose," he said amicably, and the small smile that he's wearing almost disappeared from his face as nervousness took hold. "Good-byes are unnecessary, sir."

As far as he is concerned, Vladimir had bid him farewell when he ordered for him to resign months ago. He wants the man to leave, hoping that he gets the dismissal in his tone. The president ignored his underlying plea as he closes the remaining distance between them. A sharp pain lances on his chest, the medicine is wearing out. 

"What are your plans after politics?" Vladimir casually inquired as though he's not caging him with his presence. 

"I-I...was planning to go back to my previous job as a civil or roman law professor. Maybe hone my photography." he stuttered, and a hand reached out to card through his hair, and the smile on the president's face became dangerous. 

"Are you that insistent on lying to me, my doll?" the man whispered coldly as the hand on his hair cease its movement. 

His dull, blue eyes widened in surprise, and the calm smile on the president's face is telling him to give up his act. The pain on his chest intensified even more, and he trembled as he fought to keep the flowers at bay. Nausea took hold of him, and his hand clutched tightly on his chest. He doubled over and violently vomited the blood and flowers that want to purge itself out of his body. The tears glazing his eyes obscures his vision, and he cannot point out the president's location. His hand tried to press the emergency contact on his apple watch, but a tight grip on his wrist restrained him from doing so. 

_A bullet graced his wing, and the bird plummeted to the ground._

The president grabbed him, and he felt his back is flush against the man's chest; embracing him. He's rooted on the spot as he felt Vladimir nuzzling his neck and those cold lips at his ear. 

"L-let me g-go." he pleaded through broken gasps and the arms around him tightened further. 

"Forgive me, Dima. I cannot let you go." the man whispered and gave his ear a soothing kiss. 

Dmitry felt a stinging pain on his neck, and the president released him. His world started to spin, and an oppressive cloud took over his mind beckoning him to sleep. He turned around and saw Vladimir calmly placing a cap back to an empty syringe and putting it back it in his pocket. He wanted to scream, to move away, but he felt his strength fading. 

"N-no, please," he uttered pathetically, his vision blurring and unconsciousness encased him on its slimy hold. He falls, and he felt strong arms catching and enveloping him in its embrace once again. 

_The bird will remain on his cage._

A brief silence surrounds the room; tension is reaching its boiling point as Anastasia Dmitrievna finished her tale. Tears are streaming down her bottle-green eyes as she looked at Vladislav Yuryevich and Svetlana Vladimirovna pleadingly. She knew what she did is unforgivable, but she has no choice. 

"Slava...Sveta...please forgiv-" Svetlana Vladimirovna rushed towards her and slapped her hard; its sound rang throughout the room. She puts a hand on her smarting cheek; she deserved it. 

_She deserves more than a slap on the face._

"How dare you!" Sveta screamed, she raises her hand again to slap her once again, but Slava grabbed her hand and shook his head.

"Sveta, it will not do us any good if you let your anger rule over you." Vladislav Yuryevich settled the fuming Sveta on a chair. Those umber eyes fix it gaze on her, and she lowered her head, unable to meet the questioning stare. 

Forced between a rock and a hard place, she committed a grave crime of breaking her oath as a doctor and betraying her friend. Anastasia Dmitrievna knew that the president acted out on his desperation; the man stormed her clinic along with his loyal guards, holding some of her patients hostage. A bitter taste lingered on her mouth as Vladimir Vladimirovich forced her to be an accomplice to his nefarious act to save the lives of many. 

"Natsya, can you tell us anything about Dima's condition?" Slava's gentle voice intruded her train of thoughts. 

"The operation is successful; however, I nearly lost him along the way. He lost too much blood, and I am not sure if I expelled all of the poison from the flowers. Considering that he'll be awake after a week, I will not know if he'll have any side effects from the procedure. The president barred me from returning despite my pleas." she said quietly as she shakingly wiped her tears away. 

"Do you know where he is?" Sveta asked calmly, and she lifted her head and froze under her cornflower blue eyes. She could see a mixture of anger and understanding. Guilt continues to gnaw at her heart; she does not deserve her sympathy. 

"No, I am sorry. I was blindfolded when the guards took me in and out of the building." 

Helplessness and frustration gripped them; there are no leads that can give them an idea where the president is hiding Dima. Confronting Vladimir Vladimirovich is not wise, they'll put Dima in more danger than he already is. They failed to foresee such an event; they underestimated that the president will realise his feelings earlier than they expected. 

_Atrocities are done under love's banner after all._

"About the side-effect, I do hope that Dima will not experience forgetting but knowing his rotten luck..." Slava mused, and he grimaced at his thoughts. 

"But would it not be beneficial? The president might return him to us if he forgets." Natsya said, and Slava gave her a sharp glare. 

"The procedure turned Dima into a clean slate. Knowing the coot, he might see this as advantageous for him. Never forget that the president relishes on subjugating someone to his will." Slava bitterly said as he paced towards the window and stared at the window. The Kremlin shone brightly in the distance, and Natsya saw the presidential aide's hands balling into fists as he contains his rage. 

Silence descended into the room, and its occupants have a similar prayer on their hearts. 

_If there is God, they beseech not to let Dima forget._

_There's a rumour circling the Kremlin_.

Without fail, every day, Vladimir Vladimirovich goes to St. Petersburg after a long tiring day in the Kremlin. The staff speculates that the president might have a new mistress; he might have accepted the proposal from that bold woman from Ivanovo. He must have been keeping her in his undisclosed residence in Russia's imperial capital. His press secretary has faithfully dismissed these rumours. 

_The public is not privy to his personal life._

He's sitting vigil at Dima's bedside; the doctor told him that he'd be awake after a week. He watched the former prime minister's chest gently rising and falling as he sleeps. His hand cards through the mousy hair and he leaned to gave an adoring peck to the warm cherry red lips. 

_He nearly lost him._

He knew that his former prime minister is elusive; it took time to befriend and hoodwinked him to his side. He never thought that his doll could be prideful, choosing to conceal his illness rather than confess to him. However, his Dima is right about his assessment of his personality. He'll indeed deride him for his weakness. It had been too late when Vladimir realised his feelings for Dmitry Anatolyevich, a week is not enough to convince someone who's been too jaded by his actions. He's hardpressed to admit that he did this out of desperation, but he does not want to lose his light. 

_He's also the cause of his light nearly going out._

Dmitry Anatolyevich burnt too brightly for him, and he was unappreciative of his sacrifices. His doll has never asked him anything in return and merely allowed him to take everything. He's been a fool for being too blind. Vladimir did not notice what's been in front of him all along. As a spy, hiding his emotions is as natural as breathing. 

_Such a sorry excuse._

_Twenty long years and he knew that he denies his heart's desire for it does not fit his twisted sense of morality._

He's relieved that he'll have a chance to atone for the tremendous pain and loneliness that Dima endure for twenty years. 

**_The doctor's words continue to nag at his heart._ **

_"The operation is a success, Vladimir Vladimirovich." Anatasia Dmitrievna gritted put as she blinked her tears away._

_He benignly smiled at her and the tears that she's blinking away spilt out of her eyes. He sees her guilt gnawing at her very core, but she doesn't have a choice. Failure to do his bidding will result in more lives dragged into the prime minister's futile charade._

_"When will he wake?" he calmly asked her as she took a deep breath to steel herself and wiped away her tears._

_"After a week. Have you ever wondered why Dima refuses this treatment?" the doctor snapped at him, and he watched amusedly as her bottle-green eyes flashed in anger._

_"Enlighten me, Anastasia Dmitrievna." he picked up his cup of tea and took a sip. He noticed that her hands are balling into fists as if she is restraining herself not to unleash her wrath on him._

_"You practically forced him to become a husk! He wants to leave in peace with whatever wonderful and twisted memories you two shared with his feelings for you intact. Those flowers are physical manifestations of his love, removing it entails that it will vanish. Thank God it will because you do not deserve an ounce of it!"_

_His hands shook, and he heard the cup rattling in its saucer. His face retained its perfect and impassive mask; he didn't even react to put down the victorious smile on the doctor's face when she managed to put a dent on his armour. Smiling wider, she continued her spiel._

_"There's a painful side-effect to this treatment; he'll forget the object of his affections. You'll become a stranger to him, thus, eradicating all of your conceived plans for atonement. What's the use of possessing someone that does not know you and can no longer reciprocate what you feel?"_

_He composed himself and settled the teacup down. "All that is lost can be regained."_

_"Not this time, Vladimir Vladimirovich." she gave him a sad smile and went back to her patient._

He snapped himself out of his thoughts. You can teach a heart to love once again, and he possesses the most important thing that will aid him to win back his beloved. His eyes gazed at the nightstand where Dima's diary rests, his wishes and desires are too simple. He can fulfil such simple dreams, but he's terrified that he will not be able to heal his sorrows. It's too vast, too deep to undo. It's not the only thing that he's afraid of, the notion that Dima might forget him petrifies him. 

_For his plans to work, Dima should possess his memories. If he forgets then there's nothing he could do, it will not make sense for his doll._

_Tabula rasa, an indulgent smile flits to his lips, without the burden of such memories, wooing Dima back to his side is easier._

His hand continues to card through the silky brown locks. He stilled his movement when he heard a soft moan of pain from those lips, Dima's long eyelashes started to flutter as gently as a butterfly's wing. His heart swelled in relief as bright, navy blue eyes peered at him as it adjusts to the light. The gaze that he loved has returned to its original state; it's no longer dull and lifeless. 

**_ Where is he?  _ **

_He's disoriented._

Dmitry Anatolyevich knew that this is not his flat as soon as the cream coloured walls greeted him instead of drab grey. He hissed as an unbearable pain radiates from his chest, he places his hand to massage it but stopped as he saw an iv hooked into it. He juggled through his memories, but nothing came up about hospitalisation or him being extremely ill. 

A hand placed itself gently on top of his; he turned his head to the side and saw a man. The stranger beside him is quite fetching for his age; he can tell that he once sported dirty blonde hair before it turned grey. He has a kind, warm smile on his face that seems so out of place and the sunlight that seeps into the room gives him an aura of vulnerability. He's taken aback by the look of affection and wonderment from the man; however, those eyes made the emotions that he was exhibiting fake, superficial. Somehow, it feels cold and calculated, as if, this is what this person wants him to see. 

His icy blue eyes remind him of the frozen waters of Lake Baikal and the bleak winters in Siberia. His mind and soul is telling him that the person that he's staring intently into is familiar but try as he might, no name comes up to match the frigid man in front of him. He cleared his throat, and he could see that he's watching him raptly.

**_"Who are you?"_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think :D


End file.
